


The Conquest of Bread

by Cryyptid



Category: The Centricide (Webseries)
Genre: Blue man is mentioned like twice but he's not here bc fuck him, Gen, M/M, Multi, References to Drugs, all my homies hate blue guy, jreg please never acknowledge this for my own sanity, mostly bc i felt too self conscious abt writing jreg fic to find one, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:14:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25390690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cryyptid/pseuds/Cryyptid
Summary: Ancom does some baking.
Relationships: Anarchist Unity if you squint reeeal hard, i simply think every extreme is on the same team means polycule, implied past left unity
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26





	The Conquest of Bread

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer:
> 
> Uhh do I think this is good? Absolutely not.  
> Have I probably fucked up the pronouns? Definitely.  
> But centricide is the only thing to recently break through my writer's block so I'm going to post it anyways and any feedback I get will be appreciated. Please don't be too mean sdfdf I have one braincell (or do be mean, what am I? A centrist? rules are for spooks)
> 
> Also N*zi isn't here bc I am /so/ uncomfortable writing a literal Nazi unless the writing points out all his flaws and this is clearly not about him so -oop.

It was still early in the extremist household, being between the hours of 3 and 6 am, and the kitchen, usually a rather soulless sanitised room full of overly expensive and untouched equipment (more a show of Ancap’s wealth than any necessity), felt alive in the liminal atmosphere. As though 

Of course the only person awake to appreciate it, and the only one who would have such thoughts in the first place, was Ancom. Qui, pulling yet another all-nighter and slightly high, had decided that 4 am was the perfect time of day to bake bread. The marble counter in front of quim was a mess, discarded containers for bicarbonate of soda and buttermilk. A salt shaker rolling on its side and two different bags of open flour. All of which would have been considered a mess by the others, Commie would consider such mess unproductive for efficient work, Nazi considered any form of creativity or fun degenerate, and Ancom….would not be pleased to see his property had been used, but to Ancom, a creative mess was home. Mixing the ingredients together, at a time when qui could be safe in the knowledge that most of qui’s housemates were asleep, qui felt more at home than qui had since leaving the anarchist commune.

Qi didn't bake that frequently, rarely having the supplies the task required, but when the opportunity presented itself, such as now, Ancap kept the cupboards fully stocked, qui enjoyed the experience. There was something simplistic about the process that spoke to quem, and not just because of all the cottagecore tiktoks qui had been watching recently. There was a promise of a finished product, a solid meal, something that could be shared amongst friends. In a way, qui thought, the process of baking was a little revolution in and of itself. 

Such thoughts, qui mused, pouring some more flour onto the messy workspace to knead the dough, always led quim to thoughts of Tankie. the taller communist had been the one to first teach quem how to bake bread, calling it a "necessary skill for any member of the proletariat in the fight against consumerism." and if quey focused now, qui could still feel his chest pressed into qui’s back, big calloused hands gently covering Ancom's own as he carefully showed quim how to properly knead the dough.

_Qui had been laughing, “Tankie!! You're getting flour all over my hoodie!!”_

_“A necessary sacrifice for the greater good of the workers Anarkitty, the bread will be worth the damage when we serve it to the masses”_

_He sounded strict, yet Ancom can tell without looking that the corners of the man’s mouth are turned up in a wry grin._

_“You fucking liar, that’s bullshit!” qui smiles mischievously, before putting qui’s hands in the flour and turning around, putting a hand on each of the other communist’s cheeks and smearing as much flour as qui could onto him._

_“How do you like that praxis huh?? Flour for everyone!” Tankie splutters, somehow shocked by this turn of events “Anarkitty!!” but the other ideology simply cackles. “I will get you back for that! Da!!! Stop shaking your head, you wait, next time we bake you will not be so victorious!”_

Of course there was no next time, a week later, when the revolution had ended, the statists had seized the compound and Tankie hadn’t hesitated to shoot quim in the head, all promises of bread forgotten. Qui still felt the ache sometimes in the form of sporadic yet crippling migraines. Ancom stops, sighs, it was easy to forget that the Authoritarian was just as dangerous as any other extreme within the household. Not that qui was particularly safe to be around quemself, having gained a fearsome reputation with a bat that made even Nazi flinch upon seeing quem with it in hand. Still, qui considered quemself to be the most compassionate of the household, provided qui wasn’t being faced with bigotry. Just thinking about it had led to quem kneading the bread far more viciously than necessary, oops.

Quickly Ancom opened the oven and tossed the ball of dough inside, afraid qui would accidentally pound it to pulp if qui didn’t get rid of it quickly. Thankfully for once in qui’s life qui had actually remembered to preheat the oven. Small miracles. As the bread began to cook qui dozed off, sitting in front of the oven. Dreaming sweet nothings about bashing fascist skulls in and planting a herb garden with the anarchist polycule.

-

It was at this point that the house’s other resident insomniac made his appearance, if Ancom had been slightly high, Ancap’s current crack based high was making him see stars, quite literally. As he entered the room, humming some Doja Cat to himself and grinning at nothing, he stopped short upon seeing the mess Ancom had made.

“Hey what the fuck that was my private property!!” He exclaimed to literally no one, before “-Oh.” noticing the other Anarchist asleep on the floor. The other looked….slightly cute in queir sleep, qui’s bandanna having slipped down from queir face, exposing a peaceful expression for once, as opposed to the usual rage. Almost……..he dared not think about it too much but...cute? Looking at quim, he couldn’t help but let the destruction slide. A dangerous behaviour to indulge in.

Annnnd oh god he was crashing fuck where was his stash shit- as his mood dropped he began to notice that even with the oven on the room was in actuality uncomfortably cold. Perhaps skimping on the central heating and putting a ridiculous amount of money to his own walk-in closet had not been the best of economic decisions. He looked over to Ancom, asleep, barefoot. Oops.

Tentatively, he lowered his glasses, scanning the room for any sign of their other housemates. Finding it empty he shuffled over to a cupboard and, pulling out a blanket, carefully placed it over the other ideology. There. If anyone asked he would blame the statist, everyone knew about his weakness for acts of “left unity”, nobody would suspect a thing. Job complete he trundled off to his room, he was sure he had another bag of coke somewhere and the stocks didn’t monitor themselves.

-

When the oven alarm went off, signalling the bread to be cooked, Ancom jumped in shock as qui was violently awoken from queir sleep. “Augh! Gender nonconforming Jesus that’s loud!!” 

Qui groggily got to quer feet, pulling the loaf out of the oven, it was perfect, still warm to touch but golden brown on the surface, soft with crisp edges. A deep satisfaction filled quem. Qui had missed this, creating.

For a brief moment qui thought about taking the whole loaf back to quer room. Hiding it where nobody would be able to take it from them, after all, none of the others really deserved the products of quer labour, they were bigots and statists. But no...That felt wrong, like a betrayal to quer beliefs. So instead quey cut off a chunk and placed in in the pocket of queir hoodie. It wasn’t until quey almost tripped over the blanket on queir way back to queir room that they noticed its presence, but shrugged it off as a result of sleep deprivation.

-

Later, when the sun reaches a more socially acceptable place in the sky, Commie will wake up early for his usual morning jog. He’ll stop in the hallway, see the mess and enter the kitchen. He spends a few minutes just staring at the bread, thinking about another time, feeling guilty. But the interests of the party should always come before his own, the people must come before his own. So he’ll shake it off, leave, and not bring it up to quim.

Maybe in the next life.

**Author's Note:**

> Ancap's "Subtle" blanket:  
> https://www.redbubble.com/i/throw-blanket/Atlas-Shrugged-by-casechaser/38614047.16D0B?utm_source=google&utm_medium=cpc&country_code=GB&utm_campaign=c.pla%20-%20[g.gbr]%20[l.eng]
> 
> Bread recipe used:  
> https://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/irishsodabread_67445


End file.
